


My Sexy Stranger

by alexxphoenix42



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Teenlock, Unilock, first shag, met in a bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxphoenix42/pseuds/alexxphoenix42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can I keep him? He followed me home!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really want to thank [starrysummernights](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysummernights) for the co-inspiration for writing this fic! One dark (not stormy) Saturday night on Tumblr, she asked for a writing prompt, and I passed along this gem I found on a list: “i lost my asshole friends in this club and i'm kinda drunk and youre kinda gorgeous, please help me”
> 
> Starrysummernights wrote such a fab bit about that bar moment, I was inspired to write the next part - following John home. All the love and kudos for her great talent, and good humor in playing along! Go check out all of her amazing writing!

*** 

John flicked on his lights, and held the door open for the sexy stranger to follow. There was hardly a walking space through the entryway, piled as it was with the usual crap of uni life. John used a foot to knock aside some rugby shoes, several pizza boxes, and a stack of newspapers needing recycling to let them through. He really hadn’t been expecting company tonight, and the state of the flat showed it.

John glanced back at the man picking his way carefully through the debris like some dark, elegant cat, and sucked in a breath. _God, but he was a looker._ John had sobered a bit on the taxi ride over, being nearly legless when the man had dragged him from the bar, and poured him into a cab. His rash decision of asking someone home - _wait, had he asked him home_ ?– was seeming an act of great hubris on his part by the stark florescent light of his manky kitchen. Surely the vision of loveliness that was this tall, well-dressed stranger could have gone home with damn near anyone from that bar. Why he’d agreed to trail after a smashed, near-skint med student was beyond John. Still, gift horses – not looking in the mouth of, and all that. He’d liked John well enough to blow him in the men’s loo. The least John could do was return the favour.

“Fancy a beer?” John asked looking toward the fridge, mentally calculating the contents. He wouldn’t have been able to offer the man, Sherlock he might have said his name was, much in the way of food, but he was fairly confident there was some beer to be had in there.

“I think we’ve both had enough to drink tonight.” His guest purred next to John’s ear. “Don’t you?”

John hadn’t noticed Sherlock gliding across the space to loom over him. The sound of that low, plummy voice rolling down his ear canal from such close proximity did something utterly wicked to John’s nervous system. He turned, seizing a handful of lush, black curls to haul the man’s lips down to his own before he’d really made the decision to do so. John pushed his guest against the wall, and after completely snogging him into bonelessness, moved to gnaw at the dazzling creature’s epic, never-ending expanse of a neck. 

“Gorgeous, lovely, _stunning._ ” John chanted as he mouthed his way down to the notch above his collar bones. Sherlock smelled of musky sweat, faint traces of a spicy cologne, and some sort of sweet aphrodisiac of a scent that had him all but grinding against the man’s leg. The man swallowed and John stared, transfixed at the movement of his adam’s apple. He followed the path with his tongue, licking up that long throat. Sherlock groaned, lolling his head against the horrible flocked wallpaper as John moved to devour the soft skin under his ear. “Oh you beauty. You sexy, brilliant thing.”

“Do you know you’re saying that out loud?” Sherlock asked, near breathless.

“I’m sorry. I can stop,” John said, pulling back just enough to bring the man’s bewitching blue-grey eyes into focus.

“No, it's fine.” Small lines crinkled at the side of those lovely eyes as if he were laughing at John, but the fire burning inside his gaze was anything but lighthearted. “I believe you were going to show me to your room?” He rumbled.

“Oh, God, yes.”

John maneuvered the two of them past the detritus in the corridor, pushing them into his bedroom without ever losing contact with his guest’s mad hair in one hand, and his plush arse under the other. He’d managed to work a few fingers down the bloke’s tight trousers, copping a feel of the upper curve of that sweet bum, and he wasn’t letting go for love or money.

“If you’ll let me get these clothes off, you can reach the rest of my arse.” Sherlock chuckled, and John instantly changed his priorities, removing his death grip in favour of helping his guest take off the pesky things that kept him from that gorgeous, lithe form. The man was a genius, clearly, as he managed to not only get rid of his own clothes, but helped John shed his annoying layers as well.

Self preservation had John banging the door closed behind them. His tosser flatmates were still off _Godknowswhere_ having abandoned him at that ridiculous bar with the neon earlier in the evening. They’d make it home sooner or later though, and John didn’t fancy any interruptions to spoil his best night ever.

“Your flatmates won’t be home for awhile.” Sherlock whispered against him, and bit lightly down on his earlobe. Fire raced through John’s veins as he pulled the man impossibly close, tumbling them onto his unmade bed.

The rest of the night was a blur, a gorgeous fucking blur of delicious smooth skin, scorching kisses, and that voice, that deep, dark sin of a voice pouring over him as they consumed, gripped, and stroked each other to shivering release. When the earthquakes finally settled, and ragged breath had been caught, the man sat up. He leaned over the bed, peering about for his clothes in the tangle across the floor.

“Don’t go.” John trailed a hand down the pale curve of back illuminated faintly in the glow from a street lamp outside. “Stay. . . if you want to that is.” The man was so thin, John could see the architecture of his bones and muscles as he moved. He looked as if nothing unneeded had been kept to mar the perfect lines of his body.

Sherlock glanced back at him, his face a cipher cloaked in shadow as he paused. “I’d like that.” He said finally, his deep voice pitched slightly higher, less sure of himself now that they were off the usual script.

John liked the shyness he heard, as much as he’d liked the boldness of the man’s teeth in his neck moments earlier. “Come here.” He said lifting the blanket to pat the mattress beside him.

His sexy stranger crawled down into his arms and snugged against him, easily slotting their limbs together. They sighed in unison, melting against each other.

“There, that’s better.” John mumbled, tucking the man’s curls under his chin.

“Yes, it is.” Sherlock's muffled reply came from against John’s chest. Their breathing evened and slowed, synching as they slid into sleep.

***


	2. Chapter 2

*** 

Sherlock blinked his eyes into the morning light, and found himself face to face with the most gorgeous man he had perhaps ever seen, now drooling into the pillow next to him. His golden blond hair stuck out around his head at fantastic angles, and a charming stubble dusting his slightly-dimpled chin and rounded cheeks. He looked about five years old with his face gone slack in sleep, but Sherlock knew he was a uni student – studying medicine at Kings College, probably a few years older than he was . . . and named something all together too ordinary, John. 

He’d caught Sherlock’s eye instantly at that awful hipster club he'd been stuck at last night. Sherlock had waited simply ages for his dealer to show, finally receiving a text that he wasn't able to make it. He’d slipped from his barstool in a huff, nearly colliding with the young med student who stumbled, righting his beer at the last moment.

“Oh, sorry. Say, can you help me? I’m looking for my friends, two blokes wearing . . . _God_ , you’re a gorgeous one, aren’t you?” He’d declared smiling brightly up at him.

He’d been terribly drunk, yes, but so adorable in his worn jeans and faded button-up, something real in the midst of all the plastic people swanning about in their pretentious bluetooth headsets. Sherlock had led John to the dance floor where the man had moved with a natural, sinuous grace to the eurotrash beat. Later, he'd lured John to the toilets, and enjoyed a delightful, but quick interlude fellating the med student inside a stall. Rather than pushing him away afterwards though, John had pulled Sherlock close and proceeded to snog the life out of him. When Sherlock had spotted someone he’d rather not encounter in the crowd later, he’d taken a chance and invited himself back to John’s. John had agreed with a sweet, loopy grin, and allowed himself to be manhandled into a cab outside, kissing up his neck as soon as they were seated.

Sherlock ran his gaze over John’s bedroom, scanning things that had been too dark to see the night before – typical student digs but surprisingly tidy. The mess of the flat didn’t extend to John’s private space. He could easily surmise that John wasn’t a criminal, he wasn’t wealthy by any means, but he was conscientious, above average in intelligence, . . . and much more likely to date women than men. His attentions for Sherlock would probably not extend much beyond their one night of passion. Oh, but _what_ a night! Sherlock sighed. He closed his eyes and paused a moment, soaking up the warmth of the lovely man sprawled next to him, one arm slung carelessly over his hip, and began the process of trying to slide undetected out of his bed.

No such luck. John’s eyes fluttered open at his first twitch. Ah, Sherlock felt a burst of pleasure that he at least got to have a proper look at John’s eyes before his impending exit. They had seemed dark enough to be brown the night before. Now though, in the clear light of day, he could see the irises were actually a very saturated blue striated with lighter shades of hazel scattered throughout, quite captivating really, much like the man himself. It was rare that Sherlock allowed himself to be taken back to someone’s place for something as mundane as sex. Sex for an ulterior motive certainly, but sex for the sheer pleasure of feeling someone’s skin against his own, or hearing the delicious cries of his partner coming apart under his fingers – well, this was a strange turn up indeed.

“Good morning, you.” John smiled, and his sleepy eyes slid into something soft and lovely increasing his not-insubstantial attractiveness at least tenfold. How was this even possible?

Sherlock had to clear his throat before he was able to croak a reply. “Good morning.”

“I’d say it was actually a spectacular morning. Wouldn’t you?” John smiled further, sliding a hand down to cup the swell of Sherlock’s arse, dragging him closer to a morning erection that was quickly gaining momentum.

“Starting to be.” Sherlock agreed.

“God, you smell incredible.” John nuzzled his face against Sherlock’s neck, and just like that, Sherlock was gone again, drowning in this stunning specimen of a man. Deep, open-mouthed kisses morphed effortlessly to another round of lovemaking – this time almost hypnotic in its slow, sensual pacing – so different from the frenetic coupling of the night before.

John groaned and broke off before things got too far along though. “Ugh, need the loo.” He grimaced, and crawled out of bed to snag something from a nearby chest of drawers. Sherlock was treated to a spectacular view of John's lovely, round buttocks as he bent over to step into some pyjama bottoms before the faded plaid sadly slid into place to cover them.

“Back in a tick.” John smiled over his shoulder before disappearing into the hall. 

He seemed to take most of the light from the room with him as the door closed with a click. Sherlock sighed, and used the grey time with no John in it to climb from the bed as well. He fished his aubergine boxers from the pile on the floor, and quickly slid them on before locating his cigarettes in a jacket pocket. Working a fag from the half-done pack, he lit it with a practiced flick from his lighter, inhaling with a sigh of relief. Sherlock paced leisurely about John’s room then, lightly touching things, laying his head sideways to read the book titles lining John’s shelves. You could tell a lot about a person by their books, or lack thereof. As expected, John had a number of textbooks, but a fair amount of novels, mostly space opera, and some lurid spy stories tucked in amongst the hardbacks as well. Ah, a romantic. Sherlock smiled in spite of himself, taking another drag from his cigarette. He turned as the door swung open behind him.

“Hey, I was wondering . . .” The smile on John’s face slid to a frown as his focus landed on Sherlock's mouth and the stream of smoke issuing from it. Sherlock waited patiently as John moved to wrench open the window. He returned to pluck the burning cigarette from Sherlock’s fingers, pitching it as far as he could outside.

“One rule – absolutely no smoking.” John said grimly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he turned back to face him.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his host for but a moment before the answer slid into place. “Ah, you have a natural dislike of dangerous substances as an aspiring physician, it plays well to your desire to gain recognition by taking care of people, but tobacco is a trigger in particular as you lost someone close to you recently due to complications from smoking.” He tipped his head to the side as he considered further. “I’d warrant it was a family member, not just a friend.”

A look of surprise swept over John's features. “Wha . . . that’s right. My Gran died of lung cancer six months ago. She used to smoke a pack a day, but how could you possibly know that?”

“I don’t _know_ \- I see.” Sherlock explained with a small shrug. Damn, now it was coming. Sherlock braced himself, waiting for the inevitable command to leave. People always liked the way he looked well enough, but as soon as he opened his mouth, his appeal was generally over.

“That’s . . . well, that’s amazing.” John said, his eyes gone wide as he continued to drink Sherlock in like some fascinating new thing. “If you need the toilet, it’s at the end of the hall. The door’s open.” He nodded to indicate the way.

“Thanks.” Sherlock kept it simple, leaving the room to find the loo as promised at the end of the corridor. 

After using the toilet, and a quick splash at the sink, Sherlock felt ready to return for some hasty good-byes. He was only somewhat startled to step into the hallway, and nearly collide with a ragged-looking fellow staggering from another bedroom. Ah, it was one of the elusive flatmates, probably a business major by the look of shock on the square-jawed bloke. His mouth hung unattractively open like some breed of bottom-dweller as he stared helplessly at the alluring vision exiting his loo on a Sunday morning. Interesting. He hadn't known John was bisexual.

“Morning.” Sherlock smirked, tossing his head back as he brushed past. 

He let his hips slide into a small wiggle that he knew would make his silk boxers dip just a bit lower as he sashayed to John’s room. Predictably he could feel the man’s gaze burning holes in his backside all the way down the hall. No sense in not giving the berk an eyeful to let him know that John had had an _excellent_ evening after he, and the other tosser who lived here, had abandoned him at that naff club last night. They’d obviously been chasing after two women, who had more obviously dumped them after getting several rounds of paid drinks first. Morons.

John was sat on the side of the bed when he returned, watching his hands as he worried them together. His head snapped up at Sherlock’s entrance, lips parting, obviously ready with something prepared. Before John could speak though, giving him the inevitable heave-ho, Sherlock jumped in to save him the bother. 

“Well, I’ll just be going then, shall I?" Sherlock flashed a cheery smile. "Thanks so much for a delightful evening.” He bent down to gather his things.

“I’ve cocked things up, haven’t I?” John was beside him in an instant, laying a hand lightly to his arm. “I’m sorry about the cigarette. It wasn’t my place to tell you what to do like that.”

Sherlock dropped his clothes, the belt jingling as it hit the ground. “No, it is your place. You’re allowed to have rules about what your guests do here.”

“I don’t have people over that often.” John looked up at him with eyes gone huge, vast pools of warmth that Sherlock could absolutely lose himself in if he weren't careful. “I guess I don’t know how to be a good host anymore. I was hoping we could get breakfast together before you go.” John released Sherlock's arm to run his hand back through his hair still stuck up in absolutely endearing spikes. “Unless you need to be somewhere.” He added, his voice going a bit wobbly.

“No.” Sherlock reached out to touch John’s hip, suddenly quite bereft at the lack of contact between them. “I’ve nowhere special to be. I’d love to do that. Get breakfast with you. Though I wouldn’t mind . . . first.” His eyes strayed suggestively to the rumpled bedclothes behind them.

“God, yes. Come here, you sexy bastard.” John’s face split into an ecstatic grin as he tugged Sherlock toward his bed. “Oh, these are nice.” He ran both hands over Sherlock’s bottom, feeling the slip of the smooth fabric. “I didn’t get a chance to properly appreciate you in these lovely pants last night.”

“I’d rather you got me out of these pants.” Sherlock growled, dropping his voice into pure gravel.

“Oh, yes.” John breathed, pulling them both down to the mattress, his hungry mouth reaching for Sherlock’s as soon as they landed.

Later, they lay on their sides facing each other, legs entangled, a hand laced together between them. 

“God, where have you been all my life?” John sighed moving their joined hands to drop a kiss over Sherlock’s knuckles. “You can’t be from around here. I know I’d have noticed you before.”

“My family has a townhouse in London, but I’m reading chemistry at Cambridge right now." Sherlock shrugged one shoulder carelessly. "Though I do try to spend as little time there as actually possible. _Dull_ doesn’t begin to describe the place.” The fact that he hadn’t actually stepped foot in a classroom in weeks would soon be common knowledge with his parents if he didn’t return shortly to hand in a few papers, and breeze through some idiotic end-of-term exams.

“You git.” John moved closer to kiss his nose. “There are people who’d give their back teeth to be attending Cambridge.”

“Well, they can keep their teeth, and have my place.” Sherlock said rolling onto his stomach, moving his hands to stack under his chin. “I was thinking of switching to a program in London actually. There are several that would suit my needs.” He had, in fact, been considering relocating to London, though whether he continued his studies was up for grabs. He’d been thinking more of the better drugs, and busier nightlife to be had in the larger city over any higher education, but John made him suddenly want to be doing better. "I'd be much closer to you." He added, shooting John a sideways glance.

“Really?” John lit up.

Oh this one was trouble. Sherlock really should be getting out now before he fell too deep, but somehow that was the last thing he wanted to do.“You wouldn’t mind that, would you?” He raised an eyebrow toward the delectable man who was now tracing a finger down his scapula playing connect the dots with a couple of moles.

“Mind?” John nearly squeaked. “I’ll come help you move. Unless you’ve someone else to help you move that is. . .” He trailed off awkwardly.

No, none of that. Sherlock couldn’t bear to see anything dimming the bright look on John's face. He practically leapt up, pushing himself to sitting to better face John. “No, there’s no one else,” he said quickly, “though I think someone could be hired to move the heavier things.”

“Ah, that’s good.” John nodded, sitting up himself, the sheet slipping down to reveal more of that tantalizing golden fur that striped over his belly. “So, Sherlock . . .” John sounded his name out carefully, “shall we have a shower, and grab some brekkie - though we’re probably closer to lunch by now, honestly.”

“I’d love to." Sherlock sent him a glance from under half-lidded eyes. "I was wondering if you'd remembered my name.” He dared the liberty of teasing now, and it was a heady thrill.

“Oh, I remember EVERYTHING about you.” John blurted, reddening at his own outburst.

“Good. I remember everything about you too, John.” Sherlock said, leaning in to lay a soft kiss to John’s lips. John reached for him, and it was quite some time before they finally stumbled toward the bathroom to cram into the small shower stall together. 

They might have gotten cleaner faster if they’d bathed alone, but neither were complaining at the accommodations. John was delightfully playful in the water, and they ended up spending more time licking water off each other’s skin, and giggling than actually washing. They finally left the loo wrapped in towels, passing John's flatmates shoveling in bowls of cereal before the telly. It was amusing watching the idiots trying to get an eyeful while pretending they weren't _actually_ staring themselves bug-eyed.

John paid them no mind to tug Sherlock back to his room. He dug some clean pants out of a drawer for Sherlock to borrow as they’d managed to completely ruin his boxers earlier. “I’ll wash these for you.” He said dropping the soiled clothing into a pop-up hamper in the corner.

“You don’t have to.” Sherlock said.

“I want to.” John's mouth tipped up charmingly at the side.

Before things could get overly emotional again, Sherlock turned to pull his clothes on. He stepped into John's pants with a barely suppressed shiver of delight, then made a great show of doing up the buttons on his wrinkled shirt, and fastening his trousers as John hitched up some jeans, and tugged a Kings College sweatshirt over his head.

“Did you have a place in mind for food?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing special. There’s a café that’s cheap around the corner.” John said, pushing his sleeves back to reveal the sun-kissed skin of his strong forearms.

Sherlock licked his lips. “I can do better than that. There’s an excellent Chinese place just a few streets away. The owner owes me a favour, and I eat there for free whenever I drop by.”

“Oh really?” John's eyebrows climbed upward. “Okay, this I have to hear.”

“Well it’s actually quite an interesting story.” Sherlock said, launching into the tale of the embezzling scam he’d solved for the restaurant owner some months ago. John grinned hugely, hanging on his every word as they made their way down the corridor. They ignored the stupid flatmates again, save for a small jaunty wave John gave as they navigated around a fallen stack of newspapers that blocked the path.

"After you." John winked at Sherlock, holding the door wide for him.

** FIN **

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [starrysummernights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysummernights/pseuds/starrysummernights) Log in to view. 




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